


Bonded

by TheTwistedWillow



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Abusive John Winchester, Angel Castiel (Supernatural), Angst with a Happy Ending, BAMF Castiel (Supernatural), BAMF Sam Winchester, Babies, Bottom Dean, Canon Compliant, Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Castiel and Dean Winchester Need to Use Their Words, Castiel/Dean Winchester First Time, Character Death, Domestic Castiel/Dean Winchester, Domestic Fluff, Dubious Consent, Dubious Consent Due To Identity Issues, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Smut, Gay Sex, Happy Ending, Homophobia, Homophobic John Winchester, Hurt Castiel, John Winchester Being an Asshole, John Winchester Returns, John Winchester's A+ Parenting, M/M, Masochism, Monster Babies, Mpreg, New Parents, POV Alternating, POV Castiel, POV Dean Winchester, Parent Dean, Parent Dean Winchester, Parenting Humor, Past Violence, Pregnant Dean, Protective Castiel, Protective Dean Winchester, Protective Sam Winchester, Sad with a Happy Ending, Sam is a Saint, Sam is a Sweetheart, Slow Burn, Some Humor, Soul Bond, Soul babies, Temporary Character Death, Top Castiel, Top Castiel/Bottom Dean Winchester, Unplanned Pregnancy, toxic masculinity
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-14
Updated: 2017-09-21
Packaged: 2018-12-29 20:31:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 20,406
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12092856
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheTwistedWillow/pseuds/TheTwistedWillow
Summary: OCTOBER 2017 UPDATE:  I am participating in four different challenges so this story's progress is temporarily on hold.Cas and Dean inadvertently create soul babies (this is the dub-con). John Winchester comes back from the dead. Dean lies to protect his loved ones. This story explores the "profound bond" between Dean and Cas as a main subplot. Not your typical mpreg: this is a soul bond and a new creature breed.Excerpt: “Angels do not just pluck souls from Hell. You were an exception. When I saved you I was not in corporeal form, and neither were you. We were quite literally entwined for,” Cas’s voice grows quieter and he gazes down at their [baby] remembering, “a very long time.”Canon compliant but diverges (instead of Metatron killing Dean end of S9, Dean kills Metatron and doesn't become a demon, loses MOC). Castiel still has borrowed, depleting grace. May contain spoilers up to S12 finale.***Please read tags***The story may come across darker than tags suggest; this fic is typical of the show's violence and death.





	1. Dean's POV

Dean feels like shit. No, worse than shit. He feels like his insides have been through a meat grinder and then set aflame. After reversing Metatron's banish-all-the-angels-from-heaven stunt they gained the trust of a select group of Castiel-worshiping angels who used their collective power to remove the Mark of Cain. Dean had thought that he would finally get a break but that would just be way too presumptuous. 

It started yesterday morning, during a particularly boring between-hunts kinda day. He had made breakfast while donning his dead guy's robe, sipping the rest of a beer that didn't make it into his pancake batter.

From there he ate, started laundry, dressed into his favorite denim shorts and went out to wash Baby.

Everything was going great until the indigestion began. It was mild, just hinting it's presence as he swept a sopping sponge across car windows and shimmied his hips to a Queen cassette blaring out from his portable boom box.

He was singing along without abandon, each swipe done in time to the music beat. “Another one bites the dust, another one bites the- ouch, shit.”

Dean rubbed the space over his navel with a wet hand and grimaced at the tightening pain that lasted several seconds before it let up. He continued washing, moving from the windows down to Baby’s wheels, unperturbed, until 20 minutes later he felt that squeezing, sour-stomach-discomfort again.

When it passed he decided to rinse the car off and check the expiration on the eggs in case they had gone bad. Wouldn't be the first time they'd had food spoil with the crazy, spontaneous life they lead.

Another ripple of pain caught his breath as he stood in front of the fridge where he had just found out that he had used the eggs Sam had bought only the day before. And which were definitely not expired.

He grabbed ice cold water and rummaged around for the antacids, trying to knock out possible dehydration and/or indigestion in one go.

Sam had come in as Dean grudgingly chewed up the chalky tablets, snorting at his older brother, no stranger to Dean’s post-food stomach and bowel issues.

“You gonna live, Dean?” he asked, raising his brows and smiling.

“Yuck it up,” is all Dean could mumble, not even in the mood to play around, and before Sam could really get into teasing him.

Sam’s smile dissolved. “You really don't look good. Whatever you ate, toss it out. I don't want to get sick.”

Dean threw back the rest of his water and slammed his cup down, the pain returning, squeezing around his torso. He tried to hide it by turning around, away from Sam, and walking stiffly toward the hall. Over his shoulder he said, “Toss the eggs.”

The afternoon and evening continued on with the pain coming and going in random intervals, sometimes around twenty minutes apart, sometimes around ten. At first he tried avoidance, successfully managing a few hours of sleep in hopes he could sleep it off. But it wasn’t long before he was woken up by a new intensity that couldn't be ignored.

Dean’s skin began to feel itchy hot, like he needed to get outside of it, so he did the only thing he could do and peeled off his shirt.  
  
He knew he should eat so he managed to sneak past Sam and get down a piece of toast before slinking back to his room unnoticed. He didn't need Sam worrying over a stomach virus, or worse, catching it. Dean would just have to warrior his way through it.

By 9pm he was pacing his room, restless, unable to get comfortable.

By 10pm he was trembling, the pains coming every 6 or 7 minutes.

By 11pm he was pretty sure he was going to die but he was too stubborn to seek help.

So here it is, 1am, and he's squatting on his haunches next to his bed, clutching bed sheets and moaning through the worst pain of his life. One pain right on top of another.

Dean is so focused on focusing that he doesn't hear the knock on his door nor the door creaking open. It isn't until a cool hand rests against his sweaty forehead that Sam’s presence registers. It should be a comfort but Dean is overstimulated and in excruciating pain so he doesn't welcome the distraction. He can't put any energy into responding to Sam.

There is relief, however, when he hears Sam say, “I'm calling Cas to see how much longer ‘til he gets here.” The words are like a warm blanket covering Dean. His soul practically thrums with comfort, the pain letting up ever so slightly so he can take several deep, steady breaths.

Still squatting at his bedside he presses his forehead against the mattress and rests, dozing off a little, the pulse of pain dull but still present, like sore muscles after a workout.

He isn't sure how much time passes but he knows when Cas arrives. He can feel him, a tingling sensation on the edges of his mind, like someone tickling his scalp. He had already been on his way, several hours out last they spoke, but now _he is home_.

Another pain hits and Dean bows his head, clenching his teeth, fisting the bedsheets and moaning through it. To his embarrassment it brings both Cas and Sam running. Apparently he is louder than he realizes.

“I thought he was being tortured,” Cas says to Sam when he bursts into the room and finds Dean shakily rising up. Dean sits on the edge of his bed, clad only in boxers at this point and not giving a shit who sees what. The clothing was distracting and rubbing him the wrong way.

“Appendicitis maybe? Kidney stones?” Sam asks, only a step behind Cas. “He's not been feeling well all day but it's been getting worse. If you hadn’t gotten here when you did… I was going to drag him to the hospital if I had to knock him out first myself.”

Perplexity paints Cas’ features as he kneels before Dean and studies him as Dean stares tiredly back. He isn’t sure what Cas is looking for but the body-crushing sensation returns and he grits out, “Hands,” between his teeth as another groan rises up from the deep, growing in rising decibels.

Cas obeys instantly, holding his palms up. Dean grabs them and squeezes, shudders running up and down his arms from the strain. He feels like a giant hand is wrapped around his torso and trying to squeeze the very life outta him.

“What the-- fuck-- is wrong-- with me?” Dean asks between panted breath, holding Cas’ hands more loosely now.

Dean lets Cas scrutinize him but Cas shakes his head and tears his gaze away from Dean to address Sam. “No, it's none of those things. It's- I don't know what this is but--”

Cas is cut off by the returning death grip on his hands and another body shuddering moan from Dean, the pains only a minute or two apart.

“Any ideas, Cas?” Sam asks frantically as he wrings his hands and shifts on his feet. Normally Dean would crack some joke about Sam hovering and being a mother hen but fear has gripped him hard. He can only wait for Cas’ assessment and, hopefully, healing relief.

“What was the last hunt you were on? Was Dean injured, cursed? I do not understand what I'm seeing. It's-- not possible.”

Cas squints at him again, eyes suddenly widening, his lips parting in surprise.  Dean can't ask what Cas sees because he feels the now familiar, but unwelcome, tightening in his gut signifying the onset of another wave of pain.

Two plump tears cascade down Dean’s cheeks when he squeezes his eyes shut and clenches his aching teeth together, mumbling, “I can't. I can't keep doing this. I can't do-,” Dean doubles over and groans, “nghhhh…”

“Dean,” Cas orders firmly but kindly. “Look at me. And for my father's sake, breathe! This isn’t something I can heal or help with so you must take nice, even breaths.”

Dean peels open his bleary eyes. Cas is staring again so he stares back, using those ocean blues as a focal point to get him through the crest of pain bearing down and pushing out from within. He unclenches his teeth and focuses on breathing, swallowing against the lump rising in his throat. The tight pain in his gut is still there but it's not as unbearable. He eases up his grip on Cas’ hands but doesn’t let go.

“Good,” Cas murmurs, noting Dean relaxing into the pain instead of fighting it.

Once the wave has receded Sam cautiously asks, “Is he possessed? Is it a curse? What is going on?”

Dean can see something like fear in Cas’ eyes. Something big is happening and it has Cas’ feathers more than ruffled. But it’s not the kind of fear you experience when someone is about to die. No, he is incredulous… and disturbed.

Without looking away from Dean, Cas takes a breath and addresses Dean directly this time. “I think you're in labor.”

Behind him Sam lets out a strangled, humorless laugh followed by an indignant chuff. His voice authoritative and snapping when he says, “This isn't a fucking joke. What's wrong with my brother?”

Dean tunes them out because he just can’t. He can’t! He can’t reconcile Cas’ words to his experience, he can’t get between the argument brewing between the other two men, and he can’t fucking deal with this fucking pain anymore.  
  
He knows his face is a twisted mask of the dozen emotions that have just seized up in his chest. Panic being the one winning out over all else. He can feel his chest rise and fall fast, too fast, but before he can properly hyperventilate he's slammed with the hardest pain he's felt yet.

Cas ignores Sam and continues to calmly coach Dean to breathe and relax his muscles, to not hold his breath, encouraging him that it'll lessen the intensity. But he’s freaking out, the new fear in realizing that something is inside him and wants out has him spinning out of control. .

The uncontrollable urge to bear down on the invisible force inside of his body that has no physical way out hits him like a wrecking ball. Dean swallows violently several times when that force moves up toward his throat, gagging and choking him when it persists.

When he manages to keep --whatever it is-- down, Dean feels a tremor in Cas’ hands, notices a shift in Cas’ demeanor. He seems oddly eager and expectant, hopeful, timid, uncertain. Dean has never seen so much emotion from Cas at one time and it all pours out of him with abandon, tickling at Dean through that invisible thread that connects them. It is as though any restraint Cas has had in place to protect Dean from the onslaught of his emotions is stripped bare and Dean is now at the mercy of Cas flooding his already over-flooded senses.

Dean is too exhausted at this point to even try to evaluate it further except to know that Cas doesn’t look or feel terrified anymore and some of how he feels is calming. Dean collapses onto his side when this one finally passes, letting go of Cas, tucking his knees to his chest and screwing his eyes shut as tears flow unbidden.

Sam seems to have weighed the scene before him with whatever knowledge he knows of mammals giving birth and concedes, pulling Cas up and a little bit away to demand how the fuck his very male brother is giving birth and the when, who, why of it all…

But Cas cannot give him answers because he does not seem to fully comprehend it himself, shock being an understated adjective to describe how emotional he is acting over the predicament.

“What exactly is he birthing? ‘Cause he doesn’t even look different, or-- or-- pregnant,” Sam says in a voice that Dean is sure he meant to be quiet but he overhears nonetheless. It causes Dean’s heart to race again with fear. What **_is_ ** trying to make its way out of his body?

A sudden vision of an alien bursting through his abdominal walls, with a hat and cane, causes a maniacal giggle to bubble forth, drawing the attention of the two men across the room back to him.

Cas tries to reassure both of the brothers, looking between them both. “I don't think we have cause to fear the…baby. But we do need to give it a way out.”

Sam runs a hand through his hair, thoroughly exasperated. “Okay but when the hell did this happen? Why hasn't he felt anything until now?”

Cas chews his lip.

“Cas, didn’t you say you see _something?_ What do you think you see?” Sam barks.

Dean peers at the pair of men standing by his doorway through his heavy, swollen eyelids. Cas opens and closes his mouth and waves an indecisive hand in the air like he can't quite make heads or tails, or doesn’t know how to say it.

“It appears to be a soul,” he finally says. “Not Dean’s soul, but another. His soul must have been masking and protecting it.”

Sam wrinkles his nose and gives voice to concerns that Dean can't utter. “When did that happen? Whose soul is it?”  
  
Dean interrupts them, going another round with the pain, desperately trying to breathe and maintain control until it passes. At least there is sweet relief between each pain, though the anticipation of knowing another one is soon coming deflates his ego regarding any progress made toward the ordeal coming to an end.

“Sam,” Cas says, sounding suddenly and surprisingly desperate. “Let’s get Dean through this first. Questions and answers later.”

His brother purses his lips but gives a terse nod. “Okay, what do we do?”

Cas turns back to Dean, who is still curled in the fetal position. “How have we seen other souls and entities leave vessels-- people?”

Realization alights over Sam’s face. “Through their mouth, either by its own choice or by force.”

“Dean, you need to let it out because it wants out, on its own,” Cas says gently, coming back to kneel in front of the bed, resting his arms on the mattress space before Dean’s face, gazing at him.

Dean can feel his body and face contort as another wave comes. He's starts babbling some nonsense about how he ‘can’t do it anymore’ and how ‘it needs to be over already’. Cas brushes a hand against his damp hair, trying to be of comfort. This time there's something even bigger than the pain: pressure. Pressure pushing out on all sides of his body, like his body is a bomb that wants to burst.

He can't contain it if he tried. Whatever is in him wants the fuck out, and now, so he lets it. He stops trying to contain it, stops trying to swallow the persistent push coming up his throat, even though he's scared as fuck. Tendrils of blinding and brilliant, smoky blue-white light billow from his mouth and come to settle onto the mattress between Cas and Dean.

Both of them are startled by it, even though Cas just told them it is a soul. For the all the hours of drama and pain that it just gave Dean, it is now acting dormant and docile, lying still other than the shifting of what appears to be grace and soul intertwined. It is less like gas and more like plasma, with some substance to it.  
  
Dean is drawn to the creature as his body is flooded with a base primal instinct to love and protect, as though another thread tethers him to this new life form, much like him and Cas. Mesmerized, all three men watch the shapeless, shifting light slowly solidify into something more human-baby-shaped.

“Holy… shit…” Dean breathes, carefully reaching fingers to touch and the only thing he can think to describe what the creature feels like is warm, blue jello that is slowly getting firmer. “I still don't understand.”

Cas doesn’t answer. He's stunned, one hand clapped over his mouth as though he's trying to hold in his words or his feelings or both. His eyes burn and swim with tears as he lays his other hand over the shifting creature when Dean moves his own away. Cas’ hand is massive in comparison to the little body.

Dean gives Cas a moment, taking the time to process the fact that the pains are now a dull ache and that he just gave birth to a freaking soul. A soul that is becoming more solid beneath the covering of Cas’ hand. Dean feels a pang of protectiveness pull him from the depth his exhaustion.

“Stop touching him,” he snaps at Cas.

Cas brings his eyes up and looks confused and then hurt. “But… he is mine. Ours.”

Sam, who has been quietly watching just beyond Cas’ shoulder, sucks in a sharp breath but doesn’t interrupt.

“You- you did this? How could you- why?” Dean asks in confusion before snapping at Cas again, confusion turning to anger and betrayal. “Castiel, why?”

Cas flinches at the use of his formal name. “I didn't know. I see my grace now that it is… born... whereas I hadn’t seen it before considering how much of my grace you contain from healings. This being is a product of your soul and my grace.” Cas tilts his head at Dean as though the rest of the story should be obvious.

“How the hell does that even happen?” Dean puts his arm protectively around the glowing infant, bumping Cas’ arm in the process. Cas is still covering the baby and Dean can feel the heat radiating from his hand. His anger slowly ebbs away as he realizes Cas is trying to keep the baby warm, and he calms even further when he realizes Cas has as much claim to care for the baby as he does.

The light-baby wiggles a little, distracting them, the glow fading as peaches-and-cream skin fills out. Dean is vaguely aware of Sam holding two phones, one of which he keeps pressing a button as he moves around to get different angles, the other must be him taking video.

Dean has lost all fight, overwhelmed by dealing with pain for hours, not to mention emotionally drained. Cas doesn’t answer him because he either doesn’t want to or can’t, so Dean lay there and watch, sometimes glancing up at Cas who is gazing tenderly at what is --their-- baby.

And that is when Dean has the biggest internal panic of his life, bigger than the one he had not long ago in a fit of pain when he thought he was dying. Bigger than being dumped in Purgatory or when the angels fell.

He. Has. A. Baby.

With. Cas.

Not just any baby, but a supernatural being, created from the bond between his soul and Cas’ grace. If he had known years ago that one day he’d have non-human children, he wouldn’t have believed it. He would have told his future self, “Future self, you're fucking nuts.”

He drops wide, startled eyes down to the baby just as the transformation seems to complete and the tiny, beautiful and _very human_ face scrunches up into a pout. The baby has dark hair and eyelashes, a tiny button nose and if the eyes were open they’d be either deep newborn blue or deep newborn brown.

Everyone exhales slowly at the same time, in wonder. Sam has enough sense about him to grab a spare blanket while Dean, revived by a surge of adrenaline, counts out ten tiny toes and ten slender fingers. He touches the baby, which really does feel like a human baby, the skin so soft it almost doesn’t register under his fingertips.

They all forget about the questions that have been swirling in their heads, lost to the moment. Dean sits up and takes the blanket from Sam, laying it out in the space next to him, carefully sliding his hands under the infant, who has now found their voice and is making quiet mewling noises, lip quivering and eyes still screwed shut.

“It's- it's a girl,” Dean says, correcting his earlier assumption that she was a boy, when she kicks out little legs that had been scrunched up tightly to her round tummy moments before. “Cas, it's a girl!” Oddly enough she even has a belly button, a fully healed one, even though she didn’t have an umbilical cord. He’ll have to ask Cas later but his best guess is that she must be imitating human biology and, well, humans have belly buttons.

Cas gets off the floor and kneels on the bed, scooting as close to Dean as he possibly can, watching him as Dean carefully wraps her up, still in a state of shock and unable to take his eyes away. He’s so close Dean can feel his breath on his neck as Cas leans over and he smiles a little.

“What does a soul baby eat?” Dean muses, carefully picking up her haphazardly swaddled body and cradling her in his arms. She’s calmed down now that her naked body is wrapped up.  
  
“Wow,” Sam says suddenly and with an edge of panic. Dean had forgotten he was in the room and now he wonders what his brother is even thinking about this whole situation, heart caught in his throat, because the last time he had a non-human daughter…  
  
“Sam-” Cas says in warning, most likely sensing Dean’s sudden fear. He moves quickly to situate himself in front of Dean and the baby, blocking them from Sam. This is the kind of situation Dean never wants to be faced with, when he has to choose. Sam almost always is picked first but now...

Sam cuts off whatever Cas was going to say, dashing away Dean’s fears by offering to help rather than threaten her.  
  
“We have nothing. I- I’ll go on a supply run. I’ll go get... stuff.” He runs his hands through his hair again. “Diapers, formula? Bottles? Definitely clothes.”  
  
Sam mutters to himself as he pulls out his phone, probably to look up directions to the nearest baby store. He wanders out of the room, leaving the two new fathers to simultaneously adore their daughter and internally freakout by the sudden, unexpected addition in the bunker.  
  
Dean is staring down at the content baby, eyes big, murky and wide now, her little mouth pursed into a little O when the oh-too-familiar pain returns. A gasp puffs out from between his lips and he automatically tenses.  
  
Cas notices and quickly gets up, again most likely sensing what Dean can feel if Dean can often sense Cas’ emotions. They never ever talk about it, save for the one time Cas admitted to Sam that they, Dean and Cas, did share a profound bond and then he guiltily told Dean he hadn’t intended to mention it.  
  
So they never did mention it again. They’re just always freakishly in-tune to one another when they’re physically close. Once Cas gets a few miles away, or goes to Heaven, Dean can’t get a read on him. Which is both bad and good. _Bad_ because it usually makes Dean bristly and irritable if he doesn’t hear from Cas in awhile. He worries and he worries big time. The _Good_ is also _Bad,_ though, because if Cas is in danger or dead then Dean isn’t sure he’d be able to handle it if he could sense him but couldn’t get to him. And of course he’d want to get to him.  
  
When Cas would show up out-of-nowhere Dean could sense him before Cas spoke and before he saw him with his own eyes. Hell, if Dean was asleep and Cas was watching over him he’d always waken, though he’s not sure how long it would take him to sense Cas at those times since he was, ya know, asleep.  
  
And oh when Dean stumbled upon Emanuel, when Dean secretly hoped that the mysterious faith healer would be his friend, he was still surprised when that familiar spidey sense began to tingle and he looked up to find startled blue eyes looking at him without recognition. Emanuel was intently curious about Dean and didn’t hesitate to leave his entire life behind to go with him, instantly trusting Dean where he hesitated with others along the way, like Meg. In fact, the only reason Cas did end up accepting Meg’s help was because of Dean’s word and his word alone. Oh, and maybe their freakish invisible feeling-sharing that not even Sam knows about.  
  
Purgatory was a whole other ball of wax. Cas always stayed close enough to draw monsters away from Dean, but far enough away that Dean could barely sense that he was even alive. It is what kept Dean going, kept him searching for almost a year, until he came across the angel by the water and begged him to go home. Dean still isn’t sure he would’ve left unless he definitively knew Cas was dead, prepared to stay for the long haul until Cas was found, dead or alive.  
  
Dean is so used to the bond thing, after several years, that he rarely gives it much thought. At first it was too much and he’d often ask Cas to back-up and get out of his space and yet it would always draw Dean in and back to Cas’ side soon after reprimanding him. All the other angels were dickbags but Cas? Cas was different. Cas was _his_ . In some weird, non-stalker way, of course. Dean just knew he trusted Cas without much to go on except… feelings… and that he wanted to protect Cas, even when he was pissed beyond belief at him.  
  
But in light of today’s events Dean is hyper-aware and secretly hoping Cas does know what he’s experiencing, that they’re experiencing it together to some degree, because they’re tied together in a completely new way now: parenthood.  
  
Cas carefully takes the baby out of Dean’s arms. When the pain passes Dean gasps, “What the fu- is there another? How manyyyy-” He drags out the last consonant by the subsequent pain, letting out a deep moan, doubling over where he sits on the bed.  
  
“Just let it out, remember?” Cas stands watch across from Dean, the baby cradled against his chest in one arm so his other is free in case he needs to offer comfort. She looks unbelievably tiny and vulnerable against Cas’ body, even with the big blanket wrapped around her.  
  
And he shouldn’t think it’s sexy at a time like this, but damn it, it’s the biggest turn-on he’s ever experienced regarding Cas. Cas, who is cradling a newborn infant with incomprehensible gentleness considering how insanely strong and powerful he is, able to use mind powers and kill someone with a touch. Dean has to tear his eyes away and find a different focal point to breathe his way through.  
  
“Easy- for- you, ugghh. To say,” Dean manages to blurt out. Dean tries to relax again, tries to breathe through the pain and find a happy place in his mind like Cas had told him earlier. This time the intensity is already at a high, the pressure still built up from before.  
  
When it wanes a bit and gives him a moment to collect his thoughts and breathe, he grumbles, “I thought you saw _a soul_ . Singular, Cas!”  
  
Perhaps a lot more defensively than is warranted Cas replies, “It was very difficult to distinguish just this one from your soul, much less another.” And then, of all times, Cas chooses now to monologue. “It must have happened in Hell, when I was healing you. This is not something that has happened before.”  
  
Cas begins to pace the room, gently bouncing the baby, Dean watching him warily but listening. His sexy thoughts buried by the realization that another soul thing is trying to build up enough power, or whatever, to exit his body and make itself a little human vessel is distracting. Or maybe this time it won’t be human-like.  
  
“Angels do not just pluck souls from Hell. You were an exception. When I saved you I was not in corporeal form, and neither were you. We were quite literally entwined for,” Cas’s voice grows quieter and he gazes down at their daughter remembering, “a very long time.”  
  
Cas stops talking when Dean starts whimpering, another groan gurgling up, the pressure pushing from within. Dean shakes his head violently in silent protest, trying to fight it. Cas quickly comes over and leans in close, whispering in what Dean thinks is Enochian or he is just too far gone in pain to understand English anymore.  
  
When it subsides he lowers himself into the fetal position, curled up on his side again. “I’m not dying, am I?” Dean whispers. He reaches up a hand to cup the baby’s unbelievably soft head when Cas sits down on the bed next to him.  
  
“No, you’re not,” Cas says soothingly, but Dean isn’t sure Cas knows that for a fact. He didn’t even know Dean has been carrying around a soul baby or two or a million for the past several years. What if it never ends? What if his body keeps spewing them out until it gives out..?  
  
Tentatively, after minute hesitation, Cas reaches out a hand and threads his fingers through Dean’s sweaty hair after adjusting the baby so she rests comfortably in one arm again. Dean closes his eyes to the sensation and Cas continues his theory.  
  
“Gestation would not be the same as it is for humans because she is something new. She is not a Naphil because they are born through an angel and a human host’s reproduction system. Instead she is born through a soul-grace bond. Normally when an angel occupies a vessel memories and feelings can be shared. But it is temporary and not binding.”  
  
“C-Cas? How, uh, safe is it for her out in the world?” A new anxiety overtakes him. Dean doesn’t know what kind of power his own child possesses. Will she be a threat to humanity or to angel-kind? Or will every threat in their universe come down upon her? Will she always be on the run? He feels sick, remembering his Amazonian daughter that Sam had taken down.

  
Cas looks down at her and frowns, his thoughts likely taking the same turn as Dean, judging by the way he adjusts her in his arm, pulling her closer. His fingertips, that were massaging Dean’s head, still and press into Dean’s scalp as he tenses. “She must stay here, always,” Cas says with calm certainty.  
  
Dean throws his head back, bumping Cas’ hand, eyes screwed shut as the pain returns. This time he feels it, he knows the soul is coming. Same as before a small soul comes forth from his mouth and rests between them. This time both fathers silently watch, Cas using his free hand to keep the transforming child warm and comfortable. Dean scoots closer until the glowing soul baby is tucked against his bare chest. He can feel the heat radiating from Cas’ fingers and tries, once again, to not think about how good fatherhood looks on Cas when he’s barely even done anything yet.  
  
Dean closes his eyes and must have dozed off because a sharp cry wakes him. The second little soul is now a human-looking infant, still curled and pressed to his chest. Cas is gently humming in his same spot on the edge of the bed, one sleeping babe in an arm, the other starting to cry for attention.  
  
“I’ll get a blanket,” Cas murmurs, seeing Dean is awake and won’t let the newest baby roll off the bed.  
  
Dean scoops up the naked little one and holds him against his bare chest, seeing that this one took a male form. Alone with the baby, Dean is hungry, tired, overwhelmed and still confused, he rocks with him and lets his own tears fall.  
  
“Don’t cry, little guy,” he mumbles, pressing his lips against dark brown, downy hair. Hair that reminds him of Cas. Dean’s heart constricts painfully. All talk of sexiness and turn-ons aside, Dean has been secretly in love with Cas for the past few years. And by happenstance, because of their weird and fucked up lives, they end up here with twins without so much as a kiss ever shared between them. Through his tears he bursts out laughing at the irony and strangeness that is being a Winchester.  
  
Cas comes back with a second blanket and doesn’t call any attention to Dean’s tear ravaged cheeks. He lays the sleeping girl down in order to help wrap the baby boy up and then grabs a shirt and sweatpants for Dean. Cas has to help him get dressed, Dean still jittery and weak-in-the-knees after being up for hours upon hours in pain.  
  
“We should probably name them,” Dean mumbles once he’s laying down and curled around the now sleeping boy, his eyes growing heavy.  
  
“Rest,” Cas whispers, scooping the baby girl back up and resuming his humming as he paces the room and watches over his little family.  
  
The first thing Dean notices when he wakes up is a raspy newborn cry. The second thing Dean notices is Sam has returned. And the third two things he notices, at the same time, are his stomach growling and the smell of food that Sam must have brought back. The last thing he notices is that the pains are gone.  
  
“Mommy is awake,” Sam croons when he turns away from the desk where he’s unloaded sacks of tiny clothing.  
  
Dean sits up slowly so he doesn’t disturb his son, roughly clearing his throat. “Shut it.”  
  
“Figured you earned this,” Sam says, handing him a takeout bag of which Dean graciously accepts. Dean side-eyes Cas who has calmed the baby girl with a tiny bottle, sitting in the chair that Dean keeps in the corner.  
  
“Good thing Cas called me after the little guy came or he’d be wearing onesies with butterflies all over them,” Sam says, drawing Dean’s eyes away from Cas and back to Sam as he comes close to peer down at his nephew. “Not that it would matter. He’d still be the cutest thing ever,” Sam coos in a sing-songy voice that Dean has never heard him use before.  
  
“How’d you even find a baby store open? It’s still early morning?” Dean guesses, taking a bite out of a breakfast sandwich.  
  
“You know that magical store called Walmart? It’s open 24/7. So is McDonald’s. You’re welcome.”  
  
"Yer takin’ this well,” Dean ventures around a huge mouthful.

“Yeah, well, this isn't the weirdest thing to ever happen and I've gotten used to rolling with it.”

“Humph. What's the weirdest thing?”

“Gee, Dean, I don't know. Maybe the time you mind-melded with a dog and could hear animals. What about that time we tracked down the murderer for an imaginary mermaid? Oh wait, that time I _was_ the Impala or the one hundred Tuesdays I had to suffer through…”

“Okay, point taken! Sheesh.” It makes Dean feel better knowing that Sam is okay with everything. And it kinda explains why Dean is taking this in stride himself. They've seen so much, and much of it stranger than, well, Dean birthing souls.  
  
As soon as Dean is done eating Cas brings the little girl over so Dean can take her. He didn’t notice it before, maybe due to his overstimulated nerves, but he can feel something deep within him, something warm, engage with the baby in his arms. As though his own soul is reaching out to her. It is an odd but familiar sensation and it must show on his face.

Cas asks, “What is wrong?” as he picks up their son, unable to resist having one of them near him.  
  
“Nothing, I think. I just feel really warm holding her.” He gazes down at her, her face still pouty but she’s stopped crying. It makes Dean feel proud that his presence and touch can calm her. “So they do need to eat.”

“Yes.” Cas explains, “they have some power it would seem, enough to make themselves a vessel, however infantile, but they are also human. To grow they will need sustenance.”

Sam pipes up, “Yeah, I got some premixed formula until I get bottles sterilized.”  
  
Dean is impressed that his brother is talking about sterilizing bottles and got all the stuff that he got, even if Dean can’t make it all out through the several bags crowing his desk. “How’d you even know what all to get?”  
  
“They have these registry kiosk things with printed lists of must-haves. I just grabbed one and found as much as I could.” Sam shrugs, like it’s no big deal but Dean feels like his heart could burst out of his chest with love for his brother. “I’m a researcher for a living, right? I did a little research and found what we needed, just like I’d do with a case.”  
  
That fuzzy feeling for Sam fades into concern again. “Okay, wait a sec. My… my… _babies_ aren’t a case.”  
  
Sam rolls his eyes and raises a brow at Dean. “You know what I mean. I’m not going to do anything. These aren’t some random creature’s kids, like that Amazon chick. They aren’t bred to be evil father-killing machines. Hell, they’re yours and Cas’ kids so they gotta be alright.”  
  
Dean can feel heat rising to his cheeks and refuses to meet Cas’ eyes, grateful for the distraction of the soft, featherlight baby in his arms that he can gaze at.

 

“Charlie.” Dean looks up from his daughter and up at Cas. “One of them needs to be Charlie’s namesake.”  
  
Cas doesn’t say anything, offering Dean only a shy smile over the baby boy in his arms.  
  
“And now would be a great time to break out any diapers you may have gotten. Sam? Please tell me you remembered those,” Dean says, laughing. He can feel wetness soaking through the blanket and it doesn’t gross him out as bad as he would have thought. Maybe if it was someone else’s kid but she belongs to _him_ .  
  
Dean has very little experience with babies but he had enough time with the shapeshifter baby to know how to diaper one. Her little legs are so slim and wiggly, the tiny newborn-sized diaper seems too big to fit around her little waist. She kicks one leg out before pulling it back into her belly and kicking the other out, bicycling them.  
  
“Hey, you keep that up and you’ll have a better six-pack than me,” Dean tells her, opening a tab to tape down one side of the diaper.  
  
“What six-pack?” Sam says, chortling. He takes the dirty blanket and scoops up all the little clothes to wash. “I’m going to go get these started in the baby detergent. Babies have sensitive skin so they have special detergent,” he adds when Dean gives him a questioning look. “And I’ll boil bottles. Text if you need something.”  
  
“Sam?” Dean says before his brother is out of earshot. “Thanks. I mean it, thank you.” He can’t exactly say what he’s thankful for but it’s everything. For his acceptance, for stepping in and taking charge when that is usually Dean’s role, for helping with menial tasks like bottle boiling, for being a greater brother than Dean could ever ask for or deserve...  
  
Sam gives him such an endearing smile that Dean thinks he could cry again but he sniffles down the tears and Sam rounds the corner, out of sight.  
  
Left alone with Cas, and two babies, a little tension hangs between them. One moment they’re best friends and the next moment they’re co-parents to twin newborns. Their entire dynamic has shifted and they have to work out how it will, well, work out.  
  
But first…  
  
Dean licks his lips and clears his throat. “You aren’t gonna want to name them some weird, hard-to-pronounce angel names, right?”  
  
Cas squints at him and Dean isn’t sure if he’s feeling smitey or confused or what. They need to name them and if there’s one thing Cas should know about Dean then it is that he loves names. They can’t just call them Thing 1 and Thing 2 forever.  
  
“You want to name them… together.” Cas’ tone is flat and monotone, emotionless. But his question comes out more a statement than a question, like he’s surprised Dean would invite his input.  
  
This time Dean tilts his head at Cas in a very Cas-like way. Good God, they’ve been around each other so long now he’s picking up Cas’ nuances. “I take it not many angels have practice with,” Dean gestures between the babies, one in each of their arms, “this.”  
  
“You are correct in your assumption.” Cas looks uncomfortable now. Dean can tell he is smitten by the babies but uncertain. Perhaps he is uncertain about how much involvement he thinks Dean will allow, when it isn’t solely up to Dean to decide.  
  
Dean sighs. This is going to either be really simple or really complicated. He wants the former. “Look, neither of us planned this, okay? And I may have had to go through the worst pain of my entire existence,” he says, not counting his time in Hell, “to birth them or upchuck them or whatever. But they’re both of ours. 50/50, Cas. Take it or leave it. It’s your choice if you stay and help, or your choice to pack up and go. No in-between.”  
  
“Well,” Cas says slowly, “I think the answer is easy.”  
  
Dean raises his brows at him in expectation, heart pounding and not knowing which choice Cas seems to think is the easy one because nothing about this feels easy.  
  
But, as if the answer is as obvious as to why the sky is blue, Cas confidently and firmly says, “I will stay.”  
  
“Okay then,” Dean says. He can’t help the smile that graces his face or the swell of joy in his chest to hear those three words. Cas may not be staying for him but at least he’s staying for once. And for the first time Dean really tries to let Cas feel how pleased he feels, like a purr, between them. If Cas does feel it then he doesn’t show it, to Dean’s disappointment, but he’s so happy Cas is staying --like really, really staying-- that he can’t worry about that now.  
  
“Isaac. Isaac Samuel,” Cas says, smiling softly at the boy in his arms, crows feet appearing at the corners of his eyes, laugh lines that have appeared in recent years when they hadn’t been there before. “Isaac means ‘laughter’, which reminds me of you, Dean.”  
  
Dean’s throat constricts tightly and he nods his acceptance of the name, touched that Cas would even be aware that he’d want a son to be Sam’s namesake. Dean had considered the idea of Benny or Benjamin for a middle name, but he already sorta had a kid for a time named Ben and Cas isn’t too fond of Benny. It would be too much of Dean’s past bleeding into this scenario. Isaac Samuel is perfect.  
  
In a way, Dean wants to give their daughter a more unique, rare name, much like how rare of a name Castiel is, and especially because Cas just named their son something that reminds Cas of Dean.   
  
“I heard the name Azaria awhile ago, in a book during case research,” Dean says cautiously. “But maybe with an ‘I’ instead of an ‘A’. So Izaria. Izaria Charlene?”  
  
“I like it,” Cas replies firmly.  
  
“Awesome,” Dean breathes, grinning. “Isaac and Izzy.”  
  
  
  
  
***  
Izaria is pronounced is-ar-ee-uh 


	2. Cas' POV

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: Dub-con. Dubious consent is a grey area of consent. The characters did not give consent because of naivete/innocence/lack of understanding/lack of awareness. In this case, neither of them knew they were "soul bonding".
> 
> WARNING: The new daddies discuss circumcision. This is a personal decision for any family. I certainly do not judge those who choose to wait or those who wish to do it. Everyone has their reasons in either direction.
> 
> Timestamp: babies are 2-days old to 3-months old in this chapter.
> 
> Other than the dub-con at the end, this chapter is full of fluffy domestic sweetness from Cas' POV. Next chapter will be how Dean is handling fatherhood from his POV and then... the drama. Enjoy the good times... for now.

Cas stares down at the wriggly newborn in mild horror. He does not know what to do first. Take the clothes off? Try to wipe away as much as possible? Maybe he could use that hose in the kitchen sink.

It would be easiest to just use his powers except Dean catches his eye from across the kitchen and says, “Don’t you dare,” as though he knows exactly what Cas is thinking. Dean is overbearingly protective of how much grace Cas uses.

“If I was at full power would you put up such a fuss, I wonder?” he muses.

“Yes! It's cheating. I ain't got powers to mojo diapers clean. This is an equal partnership... so deal.”  
  
Grimacing, Cas grabs handfuls of baby wipes and begins trying to remove as much poop as possible before shucking the clothes. The poop is everywhere. Up Isaac’s back and in his dark hair and now it is all over Cas’ hands and the changing mat on the kitchen table.   
  
Isaac becomes red-faced and angry with discomfort. He’s exposed to the cool air and wants to be warm and clean so Cas tries to clean him up as swiftly as possible.   
  
“Dean, I-- it’s just spreading around the more I wipe,” Cas says in distress, the pile of soiled baby wipes growing.   
  
Dean laughs merrily at Cas’ misfortune and then looks over his shoulder and it is his turn to grimace at the sight. “I think he’s gonna need a bath.” Dean walks over, drying his hands on a dishtowel now that he's finished washing dishes. Izzy sleeps soundly in a bouncy chair at Cas’ feet, next to the table, unaware of the dilemma happening just a few feet away.   
  
The babies are two-days-old and Cas has never given an infant a bath. He looks to Dean for guidance. Dean looks just as lost but tries to reassure them both. “Okay, we got this. We can do this. I mean, how hard can it be?” Dean leans down toward Isaac but straightens quickly, wrinkling his nose at the smell. “We’re gonna need to incinerate that one,” he says, referring to the diaper.   
  
There are still unpacked shopping bags full of unopened cans of formula and other ‘necessities’ that Sam had bought from the store, sitting in the corner of the kitchen waiting to be used.

Dean leaves Cas to keep wiping Isaac up so that he can find the bottle of baby wash and grab the big blue baby tub that is supposed to be able to fit in a kitchen sink.  
  
“Make sure the water isn’t too hot, or too cold,” Cas instructs, knowing at least this much. By the annoyed look Dean gives him Dean must have thought that that would obvious as well, but it doesn’t stop Cas from adding, “Test it on your wrist.”   
  
“Yeah, got it, man.” Dean’s further mumbling is lost under the rush of the faucet running.   
  
Cas shushes the crying baby who has drawn Sam into the room. The more agitated Isaac becomes, the more anxious Cas feels. Sam looks on in sympathy, also unsure what to do and definitely not interested in coming any closer to the source of the smell.   
  
“Dean, is it ready-- ah,” Cas gasps when he feels a small jet of warm liquid hit his cheek and begin to soak his shirt. The little person, his son, is peeing on him.   
  
Of course, Sam and Dean both laugh when they realize what is going on, as Cas sputters and frantically grabs more baby wipes to try and blot away the urine. He sends them both what he hopes is a scathing glare but neither brother is affected by it.   
  
Sam claps him hard on the shoulder. “You aren’t officially a dad until you’ve been peed on. Or so I’ve heard.”   
  
“I am fairly certain that an infant urinating on a man does not make him a father,” Cas says very seriously, in his best lecturing tone. “You are a father once you know of their lives, once you choose _to be_ a father.”   
  
“Alright, get that baby over here,” Dean says with a chuckle.   
  
Cas looks down again and tries to decide the best way to pick up a poop-covered baby. Well, most of it is wiped off anyway. He finally just scoops him up. He’s already covered in poop and pee so any dignity he had has long been humbled. Is this what human parenthood looks like? It is quite messy.   
  
Held against a clean space of Cas’ shirt with one arm, Isaac begins rooting around on his collarbone, and because Cas is paranoid and protective he reaches his free wrist to touch the water. Satisfied with the temperature he carefully cradles Isaac’s neck and lowers him into it. Isaac jerks reflexively at first, at the new sensation, his arms flailing out before he draws them back to his little chest.   
  
Despite Isaac’s shock at being lowered into the liquid, his crying ceases. Dean presses in close to Cas. They don’t have much space to work but neither wants to miss this first bath, neither tells the other to move or get lost. Cas smiles at Sam when he comes over as well, but he stays to the side and out of the way, taking a photo with his phone.   
  
It isn’t the first time Sam has documented something with the babies and Cas means to ask him about it. Is he doing it because they’re non-human and Sam wants documentation for the archives, or is this more a familial tradition for personal keepsake reasons? A question for another time because there are more pressing matters...   
  
“What do we do now?” Cas asks, still holding Isaac with his hands so the baby doesn’t slip into the water. His skin has becoming surprisingly slippery.   
  
“Oh, right. Uh, the baby wash. You keep holding onto him and I’ll wash.” Dean uncaps the bottle and instinctively smells the baby powder scented liquid before pouring some into his palm. Cas smiles a small smile at the very human scenting instinct.   
  
They quickly and quietly work while Isaac seems to enjoy being in the warm water, his eyes big and his little mouth making soundless motions. Cas is overwhelmed with love for this beautiful little baby. He glances at Dean, at his soft features, and knows he feels the same. He can feel it, a feedback loop of paternal affection pulses between them.   
  
“Shoot,” Dean mutters. “I forgot to grab a towel. Sam?” Dean asks, leaning forward to peer around Cas.   
  
“Yeah, yeah. What would you do without me?” Sam pushes away from the counter.   
  
Cas is sure Sam means it as a rhetorical question but he can’t help but share his gratitude when Sam returns. “Sam, you have made this transition so much easier. We do not know what we are doing. Granted neither do you, but your assistance has been very helpful. Thank you.”   
  
Sam quirks a brow at Cas and tries to bite back a smile, unsuccessfully, as he passes off a fluffy towel to Dean. “Well, you’re welcome. What kind of uncle would I be if I didn’t try to help or spoil them?”   
  
Cas lifts Isaac into the waiting towel that Dean has placed on his chest. Their son is immediately wrapped up in Dean’s arms, lovingly nuzzled up into Dean’s neck as Dean presses kisses into the soft, clean skin of his baby boy.

He isn't sure but he hasn't ever seen Dean this openly affectionate. In just two days he has buried his face into little necks, kissed them, his soft gaze soaking them in more times than can be counted.  
  
Cas tries to tear his eyes away because watching Dean fall in love with their babies is almost too much to bear but he can’t seem to look away no matter how badly he should. 

Cas cares a great deal for Dean, he always has. But he has also tried to maintain self-control, never crossing that line between friends to lovers, no matter how hard Dean’s longing has tugged at him. At first it was easy to resist when he was a fully-powered angel. It was the hardest when Cas was fully human. Even with some grace now Cas knows what he wants but...

Until Dean’s words begin to line up with his actions and emotions, Cas will not pursue him in that way. His reason is simple: Dean has to be ready to give, as well as receive, that kind of love or Cas faces certain rejection, risking their friendship. He’d rather have some of Dean than none of him.   
  
Sam helps clean up the mess at the table while Dean takes Isaac to his room to get diapered and dressed. Cas silently cleans his vessel’s clothing and prepares bottles because, so far, the babies seem to eat a little bit every couple of hours.   
  
Izzy sleeps through all of the activity going on around her, so trusting and innocent. Cas brings her and the prepared bottles to the Library just as Dean enters with a freshly dressed Isaac, so that both of the babies can be fed.   
  
The first time Cas fed one of the babies he was stiff-armed and nervous, but then something wonderful happened as she ate. Her weight became slightly heavier as she relaxed and fell asleep. The little fists curled and pressed to her cheeks loosened. She trusted Cas, openly and unconditionally, instantly.   
  
When she had finished, Cas had propped her up on his shoulder and gently rubbed her back, drawing pockets of air out of her stomach. Dean had laughed and explained that babies burp after they eat. Cas hasn’t been witness to the phenomenon before. Much of his time spent watching humanity didn’t really involve infants.   
  
Just shortly after that she spit up an alarming amount of formula, an amount that appeared to be half of the bottle she just drank, which led to a concerned uncle and two concerned daddies looking up Dr. Google, or whatever Sam called it. Apparently spit(up) happens.   
  
Now, after only two days, Cas feels like a pro at feeding his children because they’ve had to do it seemingly nonstop.   
  
Sam joins them in the Library and starts unpacking a very large rectangular box that had been propped against the wall. It is one of the things Sam had first bought but they didn’t have a chance to even open it the babies’ first day of life. But they’ve decided that now would be a good time to put it together so there would be a safe space to lay them down: the crib.

As soon as the babies are done being fed and burped, Dean comes over to where Cas is sitting in the wingback chair with a shy smile. He hesitates with how best to transfer the sleeping baby to Cas without waking Isaac.   
  
He straddles and squats slightly over one of Cas’ thighs so he can come in as close as possible, lowering Isaac as he supports his head, positioning him tummy-down against Cas’ chest. Dean’s fingers ghost over Cas as he adjusts the baby just so, until he’s satisfied Isaac will be comfortable. The babies’ heads are warm, just touching Cas’ chin, as he holds them.   
  
Dean lingers a few more seconds, pressing kisses against the back of their soft heads, his sandy-colored hair tickling Cas’ nose. But Cas doesn’t mind. Dean pulls away, without eye contact but with pink cheeks, leaving cold air in his absence as he joins Sam amongst the many pieces of crib materials scattered about the floor.   
  
The twins are content to be pressed together, their little backs rising and falling with breath, rounded and diapered bottoms propped up into the air by the curled legs under each of their bodies. Cas tucks one of his arms under their bottoms to keep them secure, using the other to pat and rub them.       
  
When the babies sleep they make the most beautiful little noises and sighs but his favorite is when their lips twitch into gummy smiles. He sighs contentedly, glad to snuggle the two tiny bundles over putting together the crib. Not to mention that watching the brothers interact should be entertaining.   
  
“Some assembly required,” Dean mumbles as he snaps open the instruction manual. “Some? How about ‘all’ assembly required?”   
  
“Quit your bitching and hand me that allen wrench.” Sam is sitting cross-legged with packing materials and several wooden boards littered around him. Dean absently hands over a whole parcel of screws and doodads, which includes the wrench, while he frowns at the poorly illustrated how-to-assemble pictures.   
  
It becomes apparent that the instructions are not user-friendly but the men, in between bickering and Dean coming close to banging his forehead against a wall in frustration, try to make do.   
  
Dean growls in frustration, looming over his brother. “No, you’re supposed to use the C screws on the J and K pieces.”   
  
“Okay, but where’s the little thing, the uhh, washer?”   
  
“You lost it? I just handed it to you. It was literally screwed onto the bolt with a nut.”   
  
“The nut? I don’t have that either!” Sam starts tossing foam packaging material out of his way, finally finding the missing pieces under his thigh.   
  
“Next.” Dean looks at the illustration and moves his mouth, thunder upon his face. “What the fuck? How do we screw the mattress base in before all the sides are up? And even with that little doo-hickey, how do we screw it between the slats?”   
  
“Ugh, I don’t know, Dean. Just hold this side up and lemme try…” Sam bites his tongue between his lips in concentration.   
  
Another half hour later and the crib is finally standing on four firm legs. Having it completed changes the mood in the room instantly. Dean beams and Sam places his hands on his hips as they all stare at the piece of furniture in triumph.   
  
The brothers swiftly move to Dean’s room to take his desk out, replacing the empty space with the crib. Another dresser, taken from a vacant room, is also moved in and filled with the little baby clothes that have been washed and dried.   
  
While the brothers are busy Cas discreetly checks angel radio, as Dean has dubbed it. He doesn’t like to tune in but he wants to make sure the babies aren’t on Heaven’s radar. After some snooping it would seem that Heaven is not aware of their existence from what he can tell. Still, he needs to come up with a plan to protect them long-term, perhaps carving sigils on their ribs when they’re older. They can’t, and shouldn’t have to, stay underground forever.   
  
Cas draws many ideas of fatherhood from the reserves of Jimmy’s memories but so much has changed just from when Claire was a baby. And memories don't automatically translate to experience. What has not changed is the range of emotions, including the fierce protectiveness, that a father can feel for their child. Jimmy was a good father and there isn’t a better man Cas could have to look up to, in a way, as an example.   
  
Cas is completely enraptured by the tiny human-looking children who carry his grace. Because they are an entirely new race, as far as Cas knows, he isn’t sure what it means for their future or what powers they have. They appear to grow at the same rate as human children, even though their ‘gestation’ took many years. But maybe they’ll be able to fly, or read minds, or listen to angels. He just does not know yet, but isn’t that true for any parent? Each child has potential for something big and grand within them, and it will take time and growth to see it come to fruition.   
  
So far nothing out of the ordinary has happened. There were no strange power surges or outages when the twins were born. No cosmic disturbances. And there doesn’t appear to be any other anomalies directly from them after their initial vessel-creating.   
  
If they can keep it that way then Heaven should hopefully never find out. Considering what they do to Nephilim… Cas tries to not think about the young Naphil woman he had killed not all that long ago and tries to ignore the stabbing guilt for taking her life and the fact that she had been someone’s child.   
  
There’s no sense in crying about it anymore. She is another tally of death marked upon his conscience and one day all of those deaths will catch up to him. So long as he can keep the babies safe and keep them from paying the price for his decisions, he can only keep moving forward.   
  
Life in the bunker continues at a somewhat normal pace. Except now Sam temporarily does research on which baby sling is the best for men to wear, laws on car seat safety and how to soothe upset infants when he isn’t answering calls to help other hunters.   
  
Dean continues to take care of the everyday chores, like cooking and doing laundry, in between his new tasks of changing diapers and bottle-feeding babies alongside Cas as they try to figure out this new, sudden thing called fatherhood.   
  
Cas devours baby books. There is almost always a baby in his arms. The ‘night shift’, once dragging, lonely and very quiet, is now filled with watching over Isaac and Izzy. He often drifts in and out of Dean’s room, checks the wardings around the bunker, reads, and manages the middle-of-the-night babycare.   
  
Their first parenting disagreement is about circumcising Isaac.   
  
“Dude, aren’t you,” Dean asks him, waving his hand up and down toward Cas’ body in question, “ya know?” referring to whether or not Jimmy was circumcised.   
  
“I fail to see the relevance of that, Dean.” Cas tilts his head as though the action can help summon enough understanding as to what Jimmy’s vessel has to do with any part of the decision.   
  
Flustered, Dean stops waving his hand around and throws it up in exasperation instead. He tries, again, to state what he feels is obvious. “B-- because I am. And, you know-- don’t you want him to, I don’t know, look like you? Uh, us?”   
  
Cas can feel his brows pulling together questioningly. “He does look like you and me. Oh, you mean his penis. I’m still not understanding what you’re trying to say about this, Dean. Why would that matter, to be circumcised just because we are?”   
  
Dean pulls himself to his full height. “Pride, man. I dunno. Looking like your father, or fathers, whatever.” Dean blushes furiously referring to them as ‘fathers’ but the pleasing tickle in their bond tells Cas that Dean isn’t as ashamed or embarrassed as he seems externally.   
  
“Aesthetics aren’t a strong enough argument to put him through a painful procedure that is completely unnecessary without a medical reason. Religious text aside, I assure you my father doesn’t hold one person above another if they’ve had their foreskin cut off.”   
  
After that comment Dean stares at Isaac a long while, working his jaw, silently stewing over Cas’ words. Finally he nods and says, “Fine. Can’t undo it, but he can always do it later… if he wants.”   
  
“That is wise, Dean. And you are right, the choice should belong to him,” Cas says and Dean gives him a grateful smile, for what exactly Cas isn’t sure.   
  
That day Cas didn’t feel any sense of victory that he won something over Dean. This wasn’t a battle of who was better, or who was right and who was wrong, but instead it was an important milestone in exercising their communication skills. Instead they both won, both coming to a decision as a unit. That in itself is what felt like a victory.   
  
A few days later Dean comes back to him to amend his argument, clearly still concerned and having done more research. “So apparently uncircumcised dudes have, ya know, more feeling or whatever. So maybe it’s a good thing that we're not havin’ him go through with it.” Dean wiggles his eyebrows.   
  
“Dean, if you’re insinuating that sex will feel better for him, I must tell you that I’m not ready to think that one day this innocent little baby will copulate.”   
  
“God, when you put it that way… I’m not-- I’m just looking out for his future. And as weird as it sounds we do have to think about what will be best for him in the long-run. This will be important for him one day. He won’t be a baby forever, Cas,” Dean says knowingly and Cas feels a twinge of sadness. The babies are already changing daily, little things, like losing the newborn puffiness around their eyes while their little thighs filled out with fat, staying awake for longer stretches and eating more formula but less frequently.   
  
A predictable routine develops by the time the twins are seven-weeks-old. But being in the bunker for all that time is draining and wearing Dean down. Humans need sunlight. So far, they have been spending time with the babies near windows in higher levels of the building each day. Cas and Dean will also bundle them up and take them to the flat rooftop, or walk around the perimeter of the building where the warding still protects them all.   
  
But it isn’t enough for Dean himself. He needs to get out and stretch his legs. He needs to drive his Impala. He needs a break, time to think, to regroup. Dean can’t be caged. And it’s only normal to have some refreshing alone time, to take care of his needs, and he will be able to more properly care for others.   
  
That, and the claustrophobia puts Dean in the foulest of moods, which affects everybody else. So Cas practically buckles Dean into the car himself.   
  
“I won’t be gone long,” Dean says, grinning widely, rubbing his hands over the steering wheel. “Hi, Baby,” he says to his car as he continues to look her over, his eye lighting up when he sees his box of cassette tapes on the passenger seat floor.   
  
Cas leans down to look at him, hand on the open car door. “Yes, I know. Drive safe.”   
  
Dean rolls his eyes. “Okay, Mrs. Brady. Geez, just going for a drive.”   
  
“Need I remind you of the statistics of-”   
  
“Cas, I’ll be okay.” Dean pulls his door shut but looks at Cas through the open window, hesitating. “Just, uh, call or text if anything --and I mean anything-- happens. If you need, you know, help. Not that you can’t do it because you’re kicking ass at the whole _Dad thing_ but--”   
  
“Dean, go,” Cas orders, trying to look stern but secretly preening that Dean thinks he’s doing well as a father. It gives him even more confidence that all will be well in Dean’s temporary absence. “We will all be fine.”   
  
So Dean drives off and is gone for maybe an hour, about 65 miles away from the bunker, when Cas gets a call.

Cas answers, a bit frazzled with being left alone with two babies whom are increasingly agitated the longer Dean has been gone. Sam is not home either but the babies, who rarely cry, never get upset when Sam leaves, even though they clearly adore their uncle already.

“Dean?”  
  
“Cas,” Dean gasps. The sound of wind blowing tells Cas that Dean must still be driving. “I’m… coming back.”   
  
“Already? You sound weird. Are you okay?” Cas tries to adjust Izzy in his arms, bounces Isaac in his little seat with his foot and presses his phone to his ear with his shoulder.   
  
“Is... that our... babies?” Dean asks between breaths. “Are they okay?”   
  
“They’re, uh--” Cas glances at the babies, overcome with both frustration and pride. He straightens up, remembering Dean’s parting words about kicking ass. “I have got this. I do. Why do you sound strange?”   
  
“I’ll --ugh-- I’ll tell you when I get back. Already feeling a little better. See you in a bit.”   
  
By the time Dean gets back the babies have settled and are asleep, and Dean appears to be fine. That doesn’t stop Cas from practically jumping him when he gets in the door, checking his eyes and feeling his forehead.   
  
“Being a dad has made you a friggin’ mom,” Dean whines. “Back up and let me in the damn door.” He shuts the heavy door behind him but there’s no anger in his body language, his words, or within their connection. There is warmth flooding Cas’ sensing indicating that Dean likes the doting attention, the care that Cas is trying to give to him. Despite what Cas feels from him, he listens to Dean’s words and backs away to a more acceptable distance.   
  
“Please tell me what happened.”   
  
Dean walks heavily down the steps while he talks. “I dunno. Just got lost in the wind and the music and the rush of my car underneath me. Got to about Tipton, didn't even mean to go that far, and then I started to feel sick. But I thought it would pass. Then the pressure came. My chest felt like it was being squeezed.”   
  
Cas listens attentively as Dean describes the pain, the fever that came, and how it all receded the closer he came back to the bunker, before Cas adds his own opinion.

“The longer you were gone, the more upset the babies became. It was only after we spoke on the phone, when you were on your way back, that they began to calm. I thought they were just tiring themselves but perhaps there is something more.”  
  
Worry lines etch Dean’s face and he haltingly says, “I do feel this-- this connection, I guess? It’s like a warmth when I’m near them. It kinda reminds me of--” Dean stops speaking and stares at Cas with an odd expression.   
  
He’s almost afraid to ask but Cas makes himself. “Reminds you of what?” If Dean would just admit to his feelings, to the connection between them, they could move forward.   
  
“It’s nothing. Where are they? They in my room?” Dean asks, even as he heads that way, so Cas pulls out the new baby monitor receiver from one of his deep coat pockets and waves it at Dean. The other piece is in Dean’s room and it allows them to hear either baby wake without having to remain in the room the entire time.   
  
Dean turns to him and playfully pushes his shoulder. “We’re so fucking domestic it’s sickening.” He laughs and huffs quietly, “Baby monitors, Jesus.”   
  
Breathing out a deep sigh when he enters his room, Dean doesn’t bother waiting for babies to wake. He carefully pulls Isaac up to his chest, the closest one to him, and motions for Cas to get Izzy. Cas does and then follows Dean down to Sam’s room, where the television is at. And since Sam is out of town Dean invites himself up onto his brother’s bed after he kicks off his shoes.   
  
Cas carefully perches on the end.   
  
“Come on, don’t be shy. Sit up here with me,” Dean says from where he is sitting against the headboard.   
  
“I’m not shy,” Cas says, a little baffled. “You gave me a difficult time when I, apparently, crowded your space a bit ago.”   
  
Dean doesn’t speak so Cas looks at him over his shoulder, eyebrow arched, waiting for him to confirm or deny the statement. Dean chooses to ignore it and instead grins and pats the space next to him with his free hand, the other holding Isaac so he’s tucked under Dean’s chin.   
  
Cas gets up and works his arms out of his coat, taking turns holding Izzy securely against him with whichever arm isn’t being freed from its confining fabric. He does the same with his suit jacket and finally slips out of his dress shoes. Dean watches him the entire time, the TV remote sitting idle and forgotten.   
  
“Are we having a slumber party in Sam’s room or are we watching something?” Cas asks as soon as he settles onto the little bed, his upper arm and shoulder pressed into Dean with the limited space. Cas sighs happily. The contact and closeness always feels like a soothing balm.   
  
“Wow, you’re one sassy angel, Cas,” Dean says, clucking his tongue with a smile, turning to the TV as he presses a button that brings the black screen to life. They channel surf and talk, the weight of Izzy against Cas’ chest, with the deep cadence of Dean’s speech, the warmth of the room, and the thrum of the bond lend to a feeling that is almost hypnotic or like a heady drug.  
  
In all his existence Cas has not felt this… good. He laughs at a funny story Dean tells him, even though it is the third time he’s heard it, which earns him a delighted expression from Dean complete with raised eyebrows and a broad smile.   
  
A comfortable silence develops between them after some time. Dean lays his head back, rubbing Isaac’s back, content and growing sleepy himself. The television drones on and Cas watches over them all once Dean has succumbed to his body’s fatigue, slouched and pressed against Cas’ side.   
  
Cas takes time to consider the oddness of Dean’s sudden illness when he left. It is evident to Cas that Dean can’t leave the babies, not for far or for very long at least. Whether it is something they will grow out of or not is left to be seen, but for now they are extremely bonded to their father. Well, one of their fathers anyway.   
  
Isaac and Izzy are definitely strongly connected to Dean. They had been flourishing within his soul for years so it is only logical. Had Cas known they were there at all he’d like to believe he would have been active in engaging them before they were born, forming a bond with them.   
  
When the babies are three-months-old they have big, gummy smiles and wave their arms around excitedly any time Uncle Sam plays peek-a-boo or when Dean pretends to eat their tummies. Cas watches these games and tries to imitate them but he does not appear to elicit the same joy that the brothers can draw from the twins.   
  
He does not tell Dean these things, about how he longs for the babies to laugh more readily with him. He only appears to draw out their more serious natures. Which is helpful during feedings because then they focus and finish more quickly than when Dean or Sam are goofing off and distracting them.   
  
Before the births, all Cas felt useful for was to help with a case or an apocalyptic-proportion problem. Now he is regularly involved with making dinners (even if he doesn’t eat), cleaning around the bunker, working alongside the brothers to help research for hunts that they pass to other hunters, shopping, game night, movies, and just hanging out for no-good-reason.   
  
Dean and Cas immediately agreed to give Isaac and Izzy the last name of Winchester the day of their births. Not having his own surname, Cas was touched when the brothers presented him with a new ID a few weeks later. It named him as Castiel Winchester and he replaced it for the Castiel Novak one he usually carried. It feels more real to be invited to be a Winchester, rather than stealing Jimmy’s surname. He had already taken so much from the man.   
  
One thing Cas has determined is that human life can be extremely monotonous with the constant feeding, diapering and laundering. Cas considers this in depth as he folds another tiny outfit, one he washed only a few days before, and decides that he loves it. He loves knowing he can care for the babies in simple ways that matter, the repetition and routine surprisingly comforting.   
  
He finishes up the laundry basket of clothes he is folding and takes them to Dean’s room where Cas finds him reading a magazine on his stomach, on his bed. They share quiet smiles because of two sleeping babes. But Cas’ presence and the slide of dresser drawers, no matter how quietly Cas opens and closes them, rouses Izzy from sleep. She rubs her head back-and-forth on the mattress, kicking up a little fuss.   
  
“Is someone hungry… or dirty..?” Cas asks softly, though his voice just comes out more gritty and rumbly the lower it goes. He picks her up, her brother sleeping through her little cries.   
  
She stares at Cas solemnly. Cas has a really good idea that they recognize his grace and perhaps that is why they are so quiet and studious with him. But their connection with him appears to only occur when he is near to them, not that he’s left for any length of time to test the theory. Cas doesn’t need freedom quite like Dean does, able to patiently wait in one place for a long, long time.   
  
Izzy’s eyes are decidedly looking blue, like his own. It makes his heart skip around strangely to look at those eyes and see himself reflected back. The same goes for Isaac. Both of them have the same eyes and hair. 

He isn't sure how they can look like him when he did not have a vessel during their creation. Perhaps these are traits they chose simply by recognizing his grace in his current vessel. Perhaps it is the Novak line they drew from. Either way it pleases him that they are recognizable as his in his current form. More importantly, recognizable as his and Dean’s together.  
  
“Such a good baby,” he coos and he can hear Dean snicker behind him. “What?”   
  
“Oh nothing. Just still get a kick out of hearing you talk baby-talk.” Dean’s voice drips with mirth but his eyes watch Cas fondly. He has had this expression on his face a lot since the babies were born, a softness to his eyes that Cas has caught Dean with many times over as Dean openly watches Cas with the babies.   
  
“Your daddy thinks he’s hilarious,” Cas says, swallowing down the warmth that Dean’s expression is giving him, to look down at her instead and continuing his ‘baby talk’. He lays her on the bed next to Dean so he can go out to the kitchen and fetch a bottle. Dean instantly starts babbling and making strange faces at her, his magazine pushed aside and forgotten.   
  
There is much to pass the time when you’re caring for helpless infants. But at night when everyone begins to settle and the hours seem to grow long, they like to watch television for downtime. Unfortunately the lone television is in Sam’s room so Dean gets the idea to bring it into a little sitting room outside the Library. The room has a loveseat that is flanked by two armchairs.   
  
It’s a really nice, cozy niche. Cas does not get exhausted like Dean unless he expends grace but an exhausted Dean flops down next to him once the babies are finally in bed for the night. They still wake at least once in the night but they most likely won’t be up for a few hours.   
  
Dean sets the baby monitor on the coffee table and snatches up the remote. He flips through channels and settles on some cooking competition show. Dean likes the food related reality shows, whereas Cas likes the survival ones best. But it doesn’t matter because Cas’ thoughts are preoccupied.  
  
Dean slouches far enough down that his head rests against the back of the couch. Cas watches his profile until Dean rolls his head toward him. “You like to stare, I get it, but even this is longer than normal. What’s up?”   
  
“Dean, I was thinking. Cain killed his brother but you did not. You also could not kill me. Why do you think that is?”

“Uh, I dunno, Cas,” Dean replies, suddenly fidgety and uncomfortable, rolling his head back toward the television and Cas misses the eye contact. Dean most likely doesn’t want to talk about it but he does not state that.

So Cas continues, “Well, I have a theory.” It is simple in his mind but trying to find the English equivalent to describe everything he’s thinking is difficult. It would be so much easier to transfer his mental visuals if Dean wouldn’t be angry with him for doing it.

When Cas doesn’t speak after a minute Dean looks over again. “Okay? Care to share?”

“The babies. They were within you when you had the Mark,” Cas says slowly, starting with an obvious fact.

Dean's discomfort skyrockets. “Yes..?”  
  
“Perhaps they had something to do with it, with you not succumbing fully.”   
  
“What're you saying? Do you think the Mark of Cain affected them?” Dean sits up to mute the television, turning toward Cas.

Cas shakes his head in the negative. “They are pure. I can see that. What I mean is that perhaps they are what kept you from…” Cas struggles to find an idiom.

“...taking a dive off the deep end?”

“If you mean that they kept you from going completely Dark Side, then yes, that.”

“Huh,” Dean says, considering it but then his expression darkens. “I did some pretty shitty stuff during that time. I'd prefer to think they weren't aware of all that.” Dean narrows his eyes at the television, staring but not watching.

“They wouldn't have known what you were doing. They would have merely been the pure, good part of you that balanced out the evil intent of the Mark.”

“How do you know, Cas?” Dean asks sharply. “You don't! Maybe they had somethin’ to do with it. Or maybe they were merely, what's the word? Gesticulating.”

“Gestating,” Cas corrects softly.

“Weird to think they've coulda been with me since you pulled me out. You really think that's when _it_ , uh, happened?” he asks, changing the subject but Cas doesn’t argue it. The tips of Dean’s ears start to burn red.

“Angels have been using vessels and healing people without this ever occurring so I don't believe it has been because of either of those. First of all, I've never possessed you,” Cas says wryly and Dean gives him what might be construed as a huge, flirty grin. “And second, healings would not have accomplished this.”

“But isn't that what you did in Hell? Healed me?”

Cas’ eyes bore into the television and he clenches his jaw. When Dean urges him to continue, and won't stop staring, Cas reluctantly looks back at him. “I-- how do I explain? You had been tortured and were torturing. You were _raw_ . You needed more than just body healing; you needed a soul _cleansing_. I used what I had at my disposal: my grace.

“I knew only the importance of my mission and failure was not an option. I did not have time to take you to heaven for a proper healing. Instead I wrapped myself around you and through you. I comforted and consoled you. I had to, as I slowly tore away the blackened and charred parts, replacing them with bits of me,” Cas’ breathing becomes ragged, recalling that horrid yet beautiful time.

A time when Dean was, much like he still is today, pushing Cas away and yet needing and wanting Cas close, to take the pain away, to be there so Dean wouldn't feel or be alone. Dean remembers much of hell but not of his rescue. To have angelic grace touch his bare soul was even worse than anything Alistair inflicted.   
  
Dean had been feral, barely controllable and not in his right mind. He fought Cas while, simultaneously, the still bright and good parts of him reached out desperately for help, clinging to Cas. It was like trying to wrestle and contain a hurricane.  
  
A hand lights on Cas’ shoulder, startling him. He must've zoned out. “Hey, it's okay.”

“You do understand why you have no recollection?” Cas raises his brows at Dean.

“Um, because the healing was worse than the actual torture I suffered and inflicted?” Dean hesitates a guess.

Cas nods once, ready to be done with the conversation, with the memories. But he can't help but add, “Toward the end, before I had to leave you at the grave-site and report to heaven, the pain and sorrow became… pleasurable.”

“Wow, Cas. And you told me you'd never done any cloud-seeding, you sly dog. And this whole time you'd _done it with me_ . How could you've not known when it was all,” Dean flutters his eyelashes and huskily says, “ _pleasurable?”_

Cas slowly smirks, the left side of his lip curling upward as he tilts his head toward Dean. “I didn't say that it was only pleasurable for me. You, on the other hand… you were most grateful.”

“Nuh-uh! You can't mean…” Dean’s eyes widen as he looks over Cas’ face to see if he can find a hint of a joke. When he doesn't find any, he coughs slightly and rubs the back of his neck, eyes darting between Cas’ eyes and lips a few times. “You're serious.”

“Mmm, yes. You reciprocated my touch. But I thought it was relief from torment, or of thanks. It's… hazy. I did not realize-- well, it wasn't sexual,” Cas finally huffs. “It was unique. I liken it to a cat who rubs against its human, except…” Again, Cas is at a loss for words.

Dean waves a dismissive hand, “Yeah, yeah. Never happened before, blah blah blah. And you had no idea you'd make the cutest babies in the world with the hottest guy you could ever dream of rescuing --and later follow around like a lost, affection-starved puppy with personal space issues-- yada yada yada.”

Cas laughs and shoves Dean’s shoulder gently. “Shut up.” He doesn’t normally talk like this, or laugh so openly, but he’s been with Dean almost nonstop for a few months and it’s obviously rubbing off on him. He is not sure what to make of this teasing.

“Well I hope it was as good for you as it was, supposedly, for me,” Dean continues wistfully.

“Dean!” Cas laughs, shaking his head.

“Hey, you said it yourself. It was _unique._ Guess I'm just a special guy. I mean, it _did_ result in a pretty gnarly handprint scar.” Dean turns to him, his smug smile disappearing as he realizes something. “Wait a minute. Does this mean I was your first after all?”

“Of course, Dean.” Cas’ laugh dies a little and he rolls his eyes affectionately. “I think it was your first, too. Again, not sexual, not sex like you or I know it anyway. It was a... bonding, I suppose you might call it. At first my grace could not penetrate your soul--”  
  
“For fuck’s sake, Cas.” An exasperated chuckle puffing out from between Dean’s lips. “Do you have to use the word ‘penetrate’?”   
  
Cas arches a brow at him. “Are you really going to be embarrassed at my attempt to explain? It did result in children so perhaps there is not a more appropriate word.” Dean blushes furiously and the connection between them grows so warm it almost burns.   
  
“Anyway, after some time of, uh, healing,” Cas says, frowning at the darker moments of that time, “I was able to intersperse my grace within your soul. Temporarily, of course, until your mind and soul were fully cleansed and purified.”   
  
Cas links his fingers together and holds them up. “Like this, only more entangled with fluid movement until it was difficult to discern what parts were me and what parts were you, with my grace caressing and consoling you until you responded back…” Cas realizes he is getting lost in the memory again and lowers his hands, clearing his throat and blushing himself.

“Damn,” Dean whispers seriously, without a hint that he’s joking, “and I don't even remember.” Dean is back to staring at Cas’ lips, this time they linger instead of roam. Cas’ heart catches in his throat when Dean leans forward a little, brow furrowed in question, eyes finally looking up to search Cas’ blue ones.

“Cas, I--” Dean stops short when he hears footsteps approaching.

“Hey. What are you guys watching?” Sam says from the doorway, absently looking up from his phone before stepping into the room to sit down in a vacant chair. “Ew, give me the remote.”

Dean sighs audibly and leans across Cas to hand the remote over. He stands, rubbing his hands over his face. “Knock yourself out. I'm goin’ to bed.”

Unsettled by the turn of the conversation and knowing somehow that Dean would pretend it didn’t happen, Cas says the only thing he can say and he lets him go. “Goodnight, Dean.”

Dean smiles fondly. “‘Night, Cas.‘Night, Sasquatch.” He leaves the room and whatever he was going to say leaves with him, unsaid.


	3. Dean's POV

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Back to Dean's POV. I'm alternating between him and Cas every other chapter. Babies are 4-6 months old here and things will pick up next chapter. *cracks knuckles* 
> 
> Spoiler warnings:  
> Doctor Who, Season 4 (David Tennant as the Tenth Doctor)  
> Quote from Sam, 11X04 ("Baby"), even though this story is canon divergent from S9 finale and on.

_You don't ever think about something? Not marriage or whatever. But . . . Something? You know, with a hunter? Somebody who understands the life?_

Sam’s words, from not long ago, echo in Dean’s mind as he forms ground beef into patties. He looks across the kitchen at Cas, who is having a staring contest with 4-month-old Izzy and talking to her in Enochian.

A little smile plays on Cas’ lips as she studies him studiously, like she knows exactly what he's saying in his native tongue. And not for the first time does Dean’s heart skip erratically at the sight of Cas with one of their children.

Isaac is strapped to Dean’s chest, gurgling up at him, content to be held close. When Dean first saw the baby carriers he thought they were some kinda straight jacket, torture devices. But they all figured out how to strap them on. And they've come in handy so many times, freeing their hands while keeping the babies close.

This. This is nice. This is _something_. What more could Dean possibly need or want --other than intimacy-- than the scene before him? Cas is home, there are babies, Dean is making dinner while music plays softly in the background and Sam is helping keep the ship afloat.  

Yeah, the walls are still covered with swords and guns, the shelves lined with tales of horrors and evils beyond belief, and they've got an arsenal of witchy hoo-doo ingredients that any warlock would envy. There ain't no white picket fence or minivan.

It's the hunter life. And Cas understands it and _he's here_ and they've slowly been settling. For the first time in ages Dean feels… incredibly happy.

Dean has had ups and downs since the twins were born though. Once the initial shock wore off...

Things had happened so quickly: the twins were born, diapered, fed. Dean slept a ton, while Cas fussed over them all and Sam took care of the fine details. So it wasn't until almost a complete day had come and gone that Dean was slammed by the full impact of his new role, and he broke down.  
  
He had needed to process that he was a father. _A father._ He didn't think he'd live long enough or quietly enough to have this. After a good cry he was able to start taking everything else in stride. Honestly, there wasn't more he _could_ do. Adaptation is his middle name, after all.

Now the babies are four-months-old and it's as though they've always been here. Which, technically, they almost always have, at least since Dean’s resurrection.

The babies laugh and can sit supported. They try really hard to reach for toys and Cas started a mini library for them, clearing shelf space for all the little board books that began to show up in the bunker.

Most days bleed into the others because of the sameness. The babies having specific sleep and feeding times, for the most part, with minimal deviances. In-between that there's reading and playing and outdoor time on the roof and traveling between rooms as other things get taken care of.  

Sam initially took a backseat to hunting to a degree, helping other hunters over the phone, but not going out. But as the weeks have passed Sam has slowly gotten back into the field more and more.

Dean envied him for that. What wouldn't Dean give to feel his blade slice through the meat and bone of a monster’s neck as warm blood sprays across his flesh, adrenaline pumping madly through his veins..?

When Dean isn't busy with babies he shoots in the bunker’s shooting range, without the twins present, of course. He also washes and tunes Baby, lifts weights and tries to help with the archives if at all possible. Basically he tries to keep himself and Baby in shape, just in case there's a day when he will be needed again. _Luck favors the prepared_ and all that.

Mostly he plays with the babies, though. They need so much of his attention and they don't sleep like they did as newborns anymore so they're awake more. Having Cas there certainly helps and he's the only reason Dean even gets sleep.

Dean doesn't always get woken up at night but he's aware of Cas’ presence. Sometimes he squints in dim light to find Cas reading in a chair or pacing with a baby. On nights when both babies are a handful they work side-by-side, each taking one and sitting up together in the quiet veil of night.

Even though they’re underground Dean can feel the sacredness and hush of the nighttime hour which feels private and intimate with its hushed whispers, low lights and Cas’ warmth next to him.

It's not exactly the kind of intimacy or closeness he ever envisioned having with the angel. But it's nice. Like, really nice. Even on the nights he is up he feels more restful. Having Cas _watch over them_ makes Dean feel better, like he can really let go and allow himself to slip into a deeper sleep.

But...

Apparently there’s this thing when you have a new baby, or in this case two. Dean discovered it when he snuck one of Cas’ many parenting books: something called postpartum depression.

Now he isn't a woman but even men can get it. It can have a lot to do with the monotony of caregiving, the overwhelming dependency infants require from their parents, fears, exhaustion, past trauma...

Dean doesn't want to harm himself or them. If anything he feels the exact opposite. He'd rip anyone's head off for so much as looking at them cross-eyed.

But doubts creep in about his abilities, or lack thereof, in caring for them. Everyone leaves Dean, everyone gets hurt or killed. Can he keep them safe? How is he even deserving to have these two new lives in his hands? Will he turn out like his own father?

And if something happened to Cas... Dean doesn’t know how he’d handle it. His dad surely didn’t cope well when his mom died. And he, just a child himself, bore the brunt of the consequences because of John’s obsession with avengeance.  
  
He also feels a bit of bitterness that his life took a complete 180, from being on jobs almost constantly to practically being confined and shut away. Sometimes he just feels sad and sluggish, wanting to do the bare minimum even if he gets plenty of sleep.

It's not that he didn't love his children nor love being with them. He feels so guilty and so ashamed of his feelings that he doesn’t think that he can talk to anyone about them. They'll think he's insane or a terrible father. Maybe Cas would want to take them away if he felt Dean couldn’t keep them safe.

He glances over at Cas again to find that Cas is watching him, brow furrowed in that way that says he’s agonizing over some silent problem he wants to figure out. It isn’t the first time. Cas has done this a lot since last month.  
  
Last month when Dean got so caught up in their conversation that he almost did something stupid. They were talking and Cas began explaining Dean’s rescue after years of keeping his lips zipped. His voice husky from trying to speak at a low volume, his face lit in a pleasant glow from whatever the hell had been on the television, describing this-- this weirdly sensual experience between them… and Dean, desperate for closeness, almost asked to fucking kiss him. _Kiss him._  
  
Just ‘cause people have babies together don’t mean they should be together. Doesn’t mean Cas wants to be together. He never stayed before and is only staying now because of Isaac and Izzy. It would do Dean best to remember that and not get caught up in a moment that happened _five years ago._

Needless to say, Dean is a hot mess. But tonight he feels good and normal and really fucking happy. So he smiles at Cas instead of asking him what is on his mind because he’s terrified that Cas will actually answer him and then they’ll _have to talk about it._  
  
No, he doesn’t need marriage. He can settle into a form of some normalcy with Cas just like this, someone who understands the life and wants to protect Isaac and Izzy just as strongly as Dean does.  
  
“You wanna call Sam in for dinner?” Dean asks. “These burgers’ll cook up fast.” Dean watches Cas and Izzy depart and he looks down at the little guy on his chest, his eyes slowly closing and his weight heavy as he nods off. Both babies are about double the weight they had been when born. He can’t imagine them being big enough to walk, talk, tell jokes. But he has all of that to look forward to.  
  
Cas assured him that Heaven hadn’t picked up on their births, which was his main concern. But it’s odd because, either an angel isn’t doing his job and keeping tabs on new souls, or Heaven doesn’t give a shit. He doesn’t think it’s the latter. Souls are power. Heaven will always give a shit about that.  
  
But he ain’t gonna go borrow trouble and bring attention to themselves by having Cas go up there and try to figure it out. Nah, they’ll lay low and mind their own business. If Heaven comes knockin’ then… Well, he isn’t sure, but they’ll only get to the babies over his dead body.  
  
Dean’s happy mood has turned on him, just like other times, this fucking roller coaster of postpartum moody madness. Sam instantly asks, “What’s wrong?” when he enters the kitchen, a frowning Cas behind him.  
  
“Yes, Dean, I can sense-- what is the matter?” Izzy starts fussing in his arms and Cas instinctively bounces her gently and bows his head over her to shush her.    
  
It almost sounds like Cas was close to admitting something in their connection. Dean tries to focus internally on sending some strong contradictory emotion to Cas and sure enough Cas straightens and his eyes snap to Dean, brow instantly furrowing into confusion.  
  
Dean shrugs. “I’m just stressin’. What’s new?”  
  
“About what?” Sam asks.  
  
Dean sighs and throws his head back, one hand rubbing Isaac’s back through the baby carrier. “I just don’t think we’re prepared enough. We need a plan in case anyone tries to come after Isaac and Izzy. Cas doesn’t have enough grace on his own to take out any angels that may find out and come here. We can’t trust any of them to even build our own angelic power system, not that any of them would want to help us anyway--”  
  
Sam sits down and holds up a hand to quiet Dean. “Whoa, yeah, stressed is an understatement, I see. Dean, the bunker is powerfully warded. And what makes you think anyone is coming?”  
  
“Dude, we can’t stay here forever. I tried to leave once a couple months ago because I had cabin fever and that ended up being a bad idea.” Dean runs his other hand through his hair. “I mean, don’t get me wrong. I’ll do what I hafta do. But it’d be nice to actually… be normal,” he grumbles. It’s a pipedream and he knows the words sound ridiculous falling from his lips.  
  
Turning to Cas, Sam says, “Our, uh, _personal_ angel-proofing on our ribs has been effective. Why can’t we do the same for the twins? How old do you think they need to be to do that?”  
  
Cas’ azure eyes turn to Dean instead of answering Sam directly. “I… do not know. It wasn’t a pleasant sensation for either of you and I do not wish to harm them.”  
  
“Yeah, well, you had no problem bestowing them upon us without even buying us drinks first,” Dean jokes, wincing at the memory. “Ya know, it wasn’t pleasant but I wouldn’t call it painful. Can’t you just numb ‘em up first? Not like there’s nerves in ribs.”  
  
Cas swallows and looks between the babies. “I mean, yes, possibly. But doing this means they’ll also be hidden from me.”  
  
Dean rolls his eyes toward the ceiling. “I thought you said you weren’t goin’ anywhere, anyway.”  
  
“There is also the matter,” Cas continues, “of them still growing. Adult bones also change due to age and injury. I’ve had to, uh, fix some of the sigils when I started to be able to locate you, usually due to a break or fissure,” he admits. “But infant bones change at such a rapid rate that it would distort the sigils and I’d have to keep updating them, very frequently.”  
  
Dean’s eyes flutter shut and he sighs, discontented. “Alright, not old enough then, not by a long shot. Don’t kids keep growing into their late teens and early 20’s?”  
  
“Yes, but not as rapidly. By puberty it might be alright,” Cas says and Dean definitely wants to change the subject now. He had been just trying to wrap his brain around the fact that one day they’ll talk, much less able to comprehend that one day they’ll become a young lady and a young man.  
  
The whole circumcision thing didn’t count because that had been abstract, just research facts he rattled off. It was easier to think about a man, in general, wanting to remain intact if it meant better sensation during sex. But to think about it being _his baby_ that would be that man, as Cas pointed out, was like a shock of ice water dumped over his brain. So anymore talk or thoughts about their kids becoming adults are back-burnered in Dean’s mind.  
  
Sam chews his burger thoughtfully. “Why not make something less permanent? What about charms?”  
  
Cas nods and then a beautiful smile ( _shut up, not beautiful_ ) evolves on his lips. “Yes, that would do. I will get started on that. Still, I’m not comfortable with them leaving the bunker yet. Agree?” The last bit is directed at Dean.  
  
“Agreed. We need a defense plan.” Normally Dean would throw caution to the wind, do what he wants and go down guns blazing but he can’t be so foolishly reckless anymore. Isaac and Izzy are depending on him. He looks down at the little angel asleep against his chest, with his mouth slightly agape, and Dean awkwardly leans in to brush his lips against a silky cheek.  
  
Cas ends up making several charms. He doesn’t use his powers so it takes some time to procure the equipment and materials needed, most of which can be bought online and then picked up at the post office where they direct their mail. Sam usually goes but if he’s on a case then it’s just a quick jaunt for Cas and he’s back before anyone misses him.  
  
The only other matter is how to keep the charms on the babies.  
  
“Can’t tie stuff around their necks, so no necklaces. And we are definitely not putting them in the diapers.”  
  
“What about sewing a soft pouch in their clothes? You can keep a charm on ‘em that way,” Sam suggests and Dean is actually impressed. It’ll be a pain in the ass to do because they grow so fast but it’s a small price to pay if it means they can try to give the twins some sense of normalcy in their lives. Which in itself is kinda laughable. They are making Enochian protection charms for them to carry from now until… whenever… because they could be potential targets to unknown evils. Yeah, totally normal.  
  
Dean just knows he’s gotta do better than his dad did. There’s gotta be some balance he can strike with hunting and being a father. Not for the first time Dean feels pangs of sympathy for his father but they are quickly clouded over with confusion because he doesn’t understand why he and Sam _weren’t enough_ in Mary’s absence. Maybe it’s the whole cupid love bow thing, considering Heaven intervened and got them together.  
  
As they sew pouches into little baby clothes one night, when babies are in bed, Dean broaches the subject. “Hey, Cas, what happens when a couple --that a cupid got together-- splits up, or one dies, or whatever? I mean, what happens to the surviving spouse?”  
  
Beside him at the Library table Cas’ hands still. “That’s not really my area of expertise, Dean. But I would suspect it, or any loss, would be emotionally painful. Why do you ask?”  
  
“Just wonderin’ why my dad went off the deep end. Do ya think having divine intervention may have been why he completely lost it when she was killed?”  
  
“I could not say. There are too many variables. Humans are… complex. He could have responded the way that he did even without a cupid’s bow connecting him to your mother.”  
  
Dean isn’t convinced, though. When they found Famine all of the people touched by Cupid were rabid, compared to those that were not, regarding their hungers. Whatever bonded those couples together was some bad mojo, disguised as something pure and good. A love so abnormally distorted that a heart couldn't mend when it was broken as it’s meant to do.  
  
He shifts in his seat and then gets up, suddenly hot and uncomfortable, setting down his needle and thread. Cas, of course, looks at him in concern but Dean saunters off to the kitchen to open the fridge, stands there for a minute, closes it, paces around, before coming back to yank the fridge door open again.  
  
“Dean?” Cas asks from the doorway, watching him. “What’s the matter?”  
  
“Nothin’,” Dean bites out. Everything.  
  
Cas looks so earnest and Dean knows if he crumples that Cas would let him without even a whisper of judgement. He just wants to help as he implores Dean. “That’s not true. Can you-- you know you can talk to me.”  
  
Not about this. “You’re right, Cas. Still just stressin’. Need to take a break before my fingers fall off,” he says with a forced laugh, slamming the fridge shut. He turns and starts violently because Cas is _right there_ in his space.  
  
“Here, let me,” Cas says, grabbing one of Dean’s hands. Dean is about to protest that he doesn’t need his hands fucking mojo-ed but Cas doesn’t use anything but pressure to gently passage the palm of Dean’s hands, up along each digit, ending at the pad of each finger.  
  
Dean doesn’t know how long Cas stands there staring down at their hands as he massages but Dean is so dumbfounded, and it feels so fucking good, that he’s frozen to the spot. He feels that familiar warmth, like a blanket, like _home_ , and for once in a long while he lets it fall about him, rather than fight it.  
  
Dean looks over Cas’ hair, his head bowed before Dean, and he wonders if this is all fake. Just like the Cupid shit. But with Cas right here before him, with the tenderness flowing from him to Dean, the firm strokes of his thumbs massaging into Dean’s palms and fingertips, he cannot imagine that it is all bad. It can’t be like his parents.  
  
Cas switches hands, still keeping his head carefully bowed, safe from eye contact because they can’t trust each other when they let their guards down like this. Or at least Dean can’t. He’s starting to feel punch drunk and fuzzy. He doesn’t know what’s really him or if it's the claim, or whatever, that Cas made on his soul.  
  
“Better?” Cas asks quietly, dropping Dean’s hand and stepping back, lifting his eyes up finally.  
  
Dean hates that his voice is so thick when he says, “Yeah. Uh, thanks, man. Gonna maybe call it a night so I’ll see ya tomorrow.”  
  
Despite the concerns that Dean keeps close to heart, things begin to look even better as time goes on. He coerces Cas into helping him make dinners while the twins look on from the high chairs, upgrades from the little bouncers. Not intending on having anymore surprise soul babies, Dean had Sam donate unused stuff to a nearby daycare center.  
  
“Hand me that spoon, would ya?” Dean asks, grabbing a skillet handle and gently sauteing some onion and bell pepper. Cas comes up behind him and lays a light hand between Dean’s shoulder blades to let his presence be known.

Dean takes the spoon and lights up when the sound of piano from Journey’s _Don’t Stop Believin’_ starts playing on his phone. Dean grins, singing quietly along until the chorus hits. That's when he belts it out, spinning around to point at the babies across the room, holding the spoon up as a microphone. The six-month-old twins screech and slap their trays, kicking their legs, laughing at Dean’s antics. Which, of course, only make him do it more.  
  
“Come on, get Dada to sing along. Cas? Our kids demand it!” Dean dances his way to the drawer that holds utensils. “Here’s your mic.”  
  
“Hey, I don’t know this one,” he says, holding up his hands. Dean thrusts a ladle into one of those hands and doesn’t let go until Cas’ fingers curl around the handle and Dean’s fingers.  
  
Dean feels a little flush of pleasure but pulls his fingers free. “Don’t be shy, Cas. _Don’t stop believin’, hold on to that fe-e-e-elin’.”_ Dean cups Cas under his elbow with his free hand, dramatically singing and shaking his hips, trying to get Cas to move his body. _  
_ _  
_ Cas rolls his eyes and does his best… but he really doesn’t know the words and ends up just laughing at Dean and exclaiming, “What is a ‘streetlight people?’” He’s also kinda a dorky dancer but Dean likes it. Awkward angel who doesn’t necessarily know how to move his vessel --er, body-- to any rhythm unless it’s to kick someone’s ass. Cas is so damn perfect at everything else it’s nice to know he’s got a flaw in there somewhere...  
  
The song ends with all four of them laughing. Dean turns around and catches a glimpse of Sam smiling in the doorway before he turns away and leaves.  
  
Def Leppard’s _Pour Some Sugar on Me_ starts up next and Dean groans loudly and closes his eyes. “Now we gotta make dessert. It’s like a rule.”  
  
Cas listens for a minute. “I do not believe this song is about dessert, Dean.”  
  
“Gee, Cas, really?” Dean says sarcastically, wielding his spoon again and holding it up to his mouth, this time singing directly to Cas and chasing him around the kitchen while the babies go wild with giggles and screeches.  
  
“Dean, stop,” Cas warns but he bites back a laugh, stepping behind the babies’ highchairs.  
  
“You cannot use our kids are shields, Cas. Come on, get back out here,” Dean coaxes. “I need a dancing partner.” Dean winks at him and sings out the current chorus, “ _Mirror queen, mannequin, rhythm of love. Sweet dream, saccharine, loosen up. Loosen up.”_  
  
Dean leans down to take little Izzy’s hands and claps them to the beat of the drums when Cas dodges him behind the back of the chairs.  
  
“Don’t drag her into your sensual sugar song.”  
  
“Then you get your ass over here and sing it!” Dean says with a laugh.  
  
Cas appears to take that as some personal challenge because his entire demeanor shifts, his one eyebrow hiking up. He slowly comes out from behind the babies and walks toward Dean, who straightens up and takes a step back for every step Cas takes forward, until Dean is stopped by the kitchen island.  
  
“I… don’t know the words, Dean,” Cas says softly. He lifts the ladle up between them and hands it over. Dean takes it back and swallows. Cas leans in closer and whispers loudly, “I think something is burning.”  
  
“What?” Dean says, trying to switch gears from Cas’ proximity to what he is saying. He sniffs and yells, “Oh shit!”  
  
Cas laughs while Dean moves the burnt vegetables and ground beef off the stovetop. Dean looks over as Cas picks Isaac up and hugs him close. “Looks like Daddy may need to go pick up pizza instead.”  
  
Dean puts his hands on his hips. “Nuh-uh, which Dad? I think you should go get it.” He can’t go far but Dean can go to town for a pizza pickup and Cas knows it.  
  
“Me? If you weren’t distracted by the music you wouldn’t have burned food. You should go,” Cas retorts.  
  
“If you wouldn’t have run around, I wouldn’t have been distracted.”  
  
“So I am the distraction?”  
  
Dean flushes but is saved by his brother poking his head into the kitchen again. “I can smell something burning from all the way out in the Library.”  
  
“It’s his fault--” Cas and Dean say in unison, pointing at one another.  
  
“Uh-huh,” Sam says slowly, clearing his throat. “So should I…?”  
  
“Pizza,” Dean says, leaning down to pick up Izzy. He stands close to Cas, facing Izzy out so she can see her brother. Cas turns Isaac to face her. The twins laugh at one another and open their mouths to gurgle out one-syllable noises, legs kicking, hands flailing in uncontained joy.  
  
“Alright, I’ll be back,” Sam says. “I swear you burned it on purpose…” Sam’s voice continues, fading as he walks further away from the kitchen.  
  
“So what do you wanna do tonight? More sewing or Doctor Who marathon?” Dean asks over baby giggles. “‘Cause I gotta tell ya, the last one was a cliffhanger. Who the fuck is River Song, amiright?”  
  
“I have my suspicions,” Cas says, narrowing his eyes like it is an epic life-and-death mystery to solve. “I would suggest sewing while we watch but that may be unproductive. You become engrossed and would probably make three stitches before losing yourself in the show.”  
  
“Are you kidding me? You think I become engrossed? Okay, here’s the deal,” Dean says, bouncing Izzy up and down in his arms while she still tries to grab at her brother. “We sew and watch.  Whoever sews the most by 10 o’clock wins.”  
  
Cas purses his lips and lifts his chin, squinting “Okay. What does the winner win?”  
  
“Out of dishes duty for a week.”  
  
“You’re on, Dean Winchester.” Cas presses his lips against Isaac’s neck, making the baby giggle. “Isaac, what do you say you be on my team and we beat Daddy, huh?”  
  
“Pitting my son against me? Then it’s on. Just watch, Team Izzy is gonna be sippin’ apple juice in victory,” Dean says in sing-song, turning Izzy to face him, lifting her up above his head.  
  
Later, after they’ve stuffed themselves with pizza and have gone through the bedtime routine of bottles, baths, and books with the babies, both fathers tiptoe out of Dean’s room with the baby monitor receiver and collect the basket of clothes left to sew up.  
  
They sit side-by-side with sewing paraphernalia scattered on the coffee table before them. “You ready for this, Cas?”  
  
“Ready, set, go,” Cas mumbles, picking up one of Isaac’s shirts.  
  
“Man, I gotta tell ya, I cannot wait to go on a real outing. Like, take them out and let them see other people.” Dean glances between stitches and the television. “I mean, yeah I want to protect them from everything but that can’t be healthy, right? They need to see the world. I don’t want them living underground forever.”  
  
“If they’re anything like their fathers then they won’t want to be underground forever. I may exercise a lot more patience than you but sometimes I like to spread my wings and fly.”

“I want them to have things I didn't. If they wanna do soccer then I want them to get the chance. I wanna take them to a park, go get ice cream, see a movie, go to ball games and the zoo, borrow books from a library about the fucking alphabet instead of summoning rituals.”

“You have dreams. Dreams for them of the things you didn't have or didn't have enough of,” Cas says matter-o-factly.

“What about you? Is there anything you want for them? What does a soldier angel dream about for children?”

Cas takes so long to consider his words that Dean gives up on him even answering. He won't push but he is curious. Cas pauses his stitching long enough to say, “I want them to be happy. I want them to be _free_ to do what makes them happy. I like the things you said, too, and if they want any of that then we should be able to help make those things possible.”

They share a smile and they let the show play on for a bit. “Sometimes when I watch this show, I wonder if some of the monsters --or aliens, whatever-- aren’t too far off from anything we’ve got wandering earth now. Vashta Nerada? Totally plausible, right?”  
  
“Since the dawn of mankind there has been fear of what cannot be seen, of what can be lurking in the dark. Man is, metaphorically speaking, afraid of the future, of what is next, of what he cannot predict nor see. There’s nothing new under the sun so I would assume the creators of the show do draw from real life and lore.”  
  
“Wow that got a lot deeper than what I was shootin’ for,” Dean says critically, but inwardly he considers the words. Dean feels like he, himself, is on the precipice of change and is staring into a pitch black future of unknowns. And yeah, it’s fucking scary. But hell if he’ll talk about it. “So whaddya think about Donna, then?”  
  
“I like this companion. She can be obnoxious but she is also such a clear representation of humanity. Every time The Doctor is on the verge of making a inhumane choice she helps to rein him in. Even though he isn’t human, she reminds him of that part of himself because it is within him. Also,” Cas says, bumping his shoulder and smiling, “I like that they’re just friends.”  
  
Dean smiles back but lets it fall when Cas looks away. What does that mean? Is this some weird passive way of Cas saying he likes that they’re just friends, too? Sometimes Dean wishes they could just be together. Romantically. Intimately. But he’s pretty sure Cas would think he’d grown an extra head and completely reject the idea.  
  
He sticks to heart-safe topics where his emotions aren’t jeopardized. “I like her, too, even if I can’t understand her when she talks freakishly fast.”  
  
“And that is why we use subtitles,” Cas says, stating the obvious and going back to sewing quietly.  
  
And that is also why Cas wins because he can understand their accents. But Dean has to keep reading along with the subtitles, which takes his focus away from his handiwork. “Ugh, cheat,” Dean says half-heartedly, resting his head on the back of the couch and closing his eyes once they’re done. He probably stabbed his fingers two dozen times and his eyes are tired.  
  
“We should get a sewing machine. It’d be much quicker than doing this by hand. Although I do like knitting, which is by hand. I could knit them some socks or booties as it can get very cold in here.”  
  
“You can friggin’ knit?” Dean asks, opening one eye to side-eye Cas. When Cas nods Dean closes his eye again and adds, “Dude, knit me some freaking socks. I love those things.”  
  
Cas twists in his seat, putting his elbow on the back of the couch and resting his head against his fist. “Okay. What colors?”  
  
Dean licks his lips and rolls his head in Cas’ direction, looking him directly in the eyes. “I like blue.” The simple, normal words feel heavy between them with all the weight of meaning that they hold. Dean breaks that up real quick. “But, I mean, any colors are cool.”  
  
Cas watches him for a minute and Dean finds himself watching back, wondering what goes on inside his ( _not gorgeous_ ) head. Finally Cas breaks the silence and says, “I may have some pink. It does have some flecks of blue and green in it, but it’s mainly pink.”  
  
They’re just socks. Who’s gonna see ‘em? “Yeah, okay, that’s cool.” Sue him, Dean actually likes pink.  
  
“I could show you how to knit,” Cas says carefully. “Then you can make as many as you want.

“Maybe,” Dean says hesitantly. But then the idea of having Cas’ fingers on his, to help him learn, pretty much seals the deal. “Yeah, okay.”

Cas’ eyes continue to slowly take over Dean’s face and he continues conversationally, as though Dean didn't just agree. “It’s a nice way to pass the time and it helps me relax when I feel stressed.”  
  
“You feel stressed? Mr. Almighty Angel of the Lord feels stressed?”  
  
Cas doesn’t look amused by Dean’s sarcasm. “Yes, of course. I can become anxious and upset like anyone. Sometimes,” Cas says with a wry smile, “you frustrate me.”  
  
“Whaaaaat? I’m a joy to be around.”  
  
Cas chuckles and twists back around to sit properly on the couch. “It’s getting late. You should get some sleep.”  
  
Dean rises and stretches, covering a wide yawn. “Yeah, yeah. And what’re you gonna do?”  
  
“What I always do, Dean. I’m going to watch over my family.”

**Author's Note:**

> Please click the SUBSCRIBE button to get email updates when I post new chapters. I have most of the fic written but I'm super duper busy and need to finish. I will try to update as quick as possible.


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